Cirque de la Lune [IC]

[SortOfBeautiful]

See OOC for more information about the story & recruiting new characters.

http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn36/takingme_away/45d39364-a0c7-4a9a-b100-5571f038a014.jpg
Circus of the moon.


Look beyond the horizon, my friend. If you do not see the sun setting each evening, then you do not see the cirque. If you do not see the tents, if you do not hear the music, if you do not smell astonishment, then you haven’t yet lived to the fullest. Come see the only Circus that will legitimately take your breath away. I’m sure you’ve been to many before, and I’m sure you’ve been astonished before, but this traveling circus is far more different than you can imagine. And it's not for the weak-hearted. Can you feel the energy? Can you tell the difference in your mood and health for the next year? You live. You sincerely and truly, live.

But beware, if you so much catch a glimpse of the rising sun on the horizon while you're in the vicinity of the cirque, you will be forever imprisoned to travel alongside, carted into acts.

However, if you so choose to stay, just know - Cirque de la Lune will always be your family.​

More Information You Need To Know:

Cane.
You can't hide your soul when your number is up. Recruit, and build. The Cirque is always looking for new family members. Harvest, if there is no other option. But neither will be easy. Life, it's never easy. If you are Chosen, and you fail, it is you who must answer to Cane.

Immortality.
Try as you may, but leaving the Cirque is just not an option for it's crew. Immortality is gifted to the crew belonging in the circus after recruitment. Leaving it's vicinity will rip you of your immortality, and thus, curses you with death, instead.

More rules, Cane, Recruiting & Harvesting.


Rules:
1. All characters must be approved by SortofBeautiful or Light Ice via PM before you post your profile in the OOC thread. We have a right to decline anyone if we feel either the author or character will not work in this group, or if we are full.
2. Try and post at least once a week. If at any point you are away or unable to post, you must notify the GM in private, or in the OOC thread so the other writers are aware as well. This is a group story, so communication is important!
3. All posts must be at least 200 words. More would be wonderful. Writing only dialogue and action is simply not enough. Write your surroundings. Characters have thoughts, too. If not enough is happening in the story, be creative and make something happen.
4. Check the OOC often for possible news, updates, communication with other writers, and plotting.

The Cirque de la Lune Family:

Madamoiselle Azra.
The Fortune Teller - played by SortofBeautiful.

Thaddeus Collins AKA Silencio
The Clown - played by LitShark.

Nathan Bedford Forrest.
The Trick Shooter - played by Light Ice.

Kanin Weiss.
The Magician's Assistant - played by Faux_Pas.

Nailah Stark.
The Lion Tamer - played by KattDclaw.

Antonio Pampas.
The Strongest Man - played by Remec.

Maahes Apedemak.
The Lion - played by ArcticAvenue.

The Fire Dancer - Reserved.


Suggested Roles:
The Magician.
The Aerial Dancer.
Trapeze Artist.
Etc.
​

 

[SortOfBeautiful]

Madamoiselle Azra.

Paris, France – Cirque de la Lune train – Present day.


Stone houses. Wooden balconies. Narrow streets. Lantern street lights. A small village with a fishing and boating port overlooked by the town square.

They were safe there in Yvoire. There were large fields and abandoned farms, both of which could be used to place the Circus for the evening for both for the show and for rest. The locals didn't even know or expect a show, but they'd get one.

Azra could see her friends in the Cirque laughing. Drinking. Dancing. Loving. Living. The threat of Cane far from their minds and far from their tents. Even for just one night.

He was there, too. The Trick Shooter. Watching her. Always watching. He didn't laugh and love like the others. One minute, she was dancing. Spinning around and around with a joyful laughter in her throat, her green dress twirling, and the next, she was crashing into him.



"Yvoire." Azra's lips spoke, barely a whisper. Awakening from sleep, Azra jolted forward as she sat up.

Sometimes, when she dreamed, she had nightmares. Not visions of the future, and certainly not of places that might be safe from Cane’s reach, but of her past. A past with her in a cage. Begging. Pleading. Sobbing. Screaming.

Her recruitment.

It had been a like a curse, and often, she was forced to relive the memory of that part of her past in her dreams. Over and over again. It was very rare that Mademoiselle Azra ever saw glimpses of the past, let alone memories of her own. She longed to dream about her little sister, the family cat she grew up with, or the smell of her mother's strawberry pie she baked in the summer. But every time she dreamed of her past, it was always the same thing. It was always with him.

But, today, Azra had been gifted the vision of dreaming the future. Those dreams were crucial, especially since Azra's visions had helped the Cirque avoid Cane. For weeks, no new members had been recruited, and no friends had lost their lives to the harvest. She could only hope that her visions continued to grant her with news everyone was so desperately hoping to hear; that they could make it one more night, without the threat of Cane looming over them.

"Yvoire," Azra repeated, and swung her legs from under her blankets until her bare feet found the warmth of her slippers on the cold floor of the train cabin she slept in. It took her a moment to gain her balance and adjust to the rough movement of the train, and it seemed even after years of practice, Azra still hadn't gotten used to these living conditions.

She'd always said when she was mortal that she had wanted to see the world. That was every girl's dream who had never left the surrounding border of their hometown, wasn't it? But never, ever, would she have imagined or dreamed about seeing the world this way.

While Azra loved her Cirque family, it was hard not to feel indifferent about the life they lived when she constantly lived in fear and had been recruited in the most harsh, violent way possible.

Stretching, her arms wide, the only thing that covered Azra's young, immortal body was a thin, pink sleeping gown. Quickly, to keep from freezing herself, she swung a large, white shawl around her shoulders as she hurried to one of the tables across the room. Her cold fingers fumbled through the books and papers on the desk until she found it - a map. As her index finger traced invisible lines over the map of Europe, the ink and colors dusty and faded, she finally found it.

Yvoire, France. Just as she'd dreamed.

The small village would still be another couple hours on the train from where they were currently passing through in Paris, and it seemed they were headed in the right direction. But those few hours would pass quickly to a group of souls who had an eternity to travel the world in the Circus. Deciding it would be best to let the others know their new destination as soon as possible, Azra dressed in a long, dark green bohemian dress before her long dark hair was brushed, and half of it was twisted and tied up with a hair pin she's had with her since she was recruited. Her last piece of home. Of herself, really.

Once the Ring Mistress was made aware of their newest destination, confident the Cirque train would make it to Yvoire before sunset, Azra passed through the train in search for others who might be willing to share a meal with her and help pass the few hours they still had left before show time.

 

[LitShark]

Thaddeus woke with a groan into his straw-stuffed pillow as the repetitive clacking of wheels just below his bunk wrestled him back from that faintest sliver of sleep, that he was finally able to glimpse, in the space between insomnia and sluggishness. It was hopeless to try and get back to that tenuous shadow of sleep, now that he’d been jostled back into wakefulness, since there was no cessation of said jostling in the foreseeable future.

In lieu of fighting for more sleep, Thad sat up and opened the worn, wicker briefcase which housed his record player and his meager but adaptive collection of vinyl. The brown, paper, handwritten sleeves had names like “Performance Mash-up #11” and “Segway Vamp 3C”, all scattered in with artist names from “Gil Scott-Heron” to “Wu Tang Clan”. It took a moment to get all of the miniature discs onto the same side of the splayed open case, so that he could start the wheel spinning with a few ardent cranks of a metal handle, utilizing the nearly extinct power source of manual wind-up.

A few passes of his hand led him to a sleeved disc labeled “Public Enemy”, which he pulled out and placed onto the spinning table, taking a long moment to measure his placement of the needle, landing at just the right spot of Fight the Power to reflect his mood.

With the music resonating in that uniquely manual way that old record-playing speakers did (which had yet to be duplicated by modern speaker technology), Thad placed a half-smoked spliff from the night before between his lips. It was something he’d tried unsuccessfully to lure in sleep with, now it was proving equally ineffective at waking him. When the chorus blared, Thad closed his eyes and rode the smoke upward, through the roof-boards and under window panes, up onto the roof of his cramped little railcar. The wind whistled fiercely across his bare torso and shaved head, plaid pajama pants fluttering in the gusting wind.

Before Thad’s eyes, beautiful French countryside unfurled itself before him. The train was clattering around a bend in the mountains with the natural waterways bending and crashing below the tracks. In the distance, the countryside glittered, canals reflecting the sunrise like a whole region wearing gold-ropes like Run DMC.

“Fight the Power!” Heavy D was shouting inside the car, but sitting there cross-legged overlooking France, it was hard to feel much anger, or anything really, aside from awe.

Thad turned away from the wind, to take another drag on his spliff and blow himself back through the open window above his bed. He tucked easily in the air and landed painlessly back in bed. Coffee, that’s what he really needed, to heat out the chill he’d endured on the roof of the train and finally wake him up enough to feel like himself.

Thad ducked into a black long-sleeve thermal and his black slippers, taking one last hit before crushing out the little roach in the ashtray. He hoped someone had thought to make some breakfast that wasn’t comprised of slaughtered swine. He followed the hope of coffee into the hallway which ran the length of the train, nearly tackling Azra like she was a Tight-End trying to run a button hook across the middle in his stupor. Fortunately he was able to vaporize himself, on ambient coal smoke from the engine car, so that the Fortune Teller passed right through him.

“Coffee?” Was Thad’s blunt inquiry when he solidified again behind Azra.

A small, vain wish washed through him. Maybe wherever they were headed would have hot, running water. Thad needed a long shower and a close shave before he was able to perform comfortably again. Thad closed the door to his bunk with his music still playing, following instinctively where the Fortune Teller went, certain that his patience would be rewarded, sooner or later by at least some of the things he needed to be confident in his wakefulness.